


Taking Your Medicine

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Light Masochism, M/M, Mild Painplay, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6550801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim breaks the rules, there are consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Your Medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [live_with_love](https://archiveofourown.org/users/live_with_love/gifts).



McCoy remained scrupulously professional throughout the entire medical evaluation. He didn’t raise his voice once, and the word “dammit” never made an appearance. That’s when Jim knew he was in real trouble. 

On the way back to his quarters, Jim worked to suppress the simmering anticipation in his belly, keeping an appropriate captainly expression and nodding at crew members he passed in the corridor. However, once safely behind his door, he allowed himself to slump against the doors and shake. 

He replayed the examination in his mind: the impersonal touch of McCoy’s hand on his cheek as he shone a light into his eye, and the way Jim’s cheeks had burned at the touch, humiliation flaring at being treated the same way as a stranger, at being denied the easy intimacy they usually shared. 

Jim clenched his fists at his sides and tried to breathe, to think through what he might be able to do to mitigate the coming storm. He took two steps into the room, looking around for something, anything—then stopped himself. The nervous energy stilled into a kind of soothing, harmonious hum inside him. He didn’t want to still McCoy’s wrath, he realized. He wanted to feel it, all of it. He needed it. 

When the door opened, Jim couldn’t have said how much time had passed. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, fully dressed except for the uniform boots he’d settled neatly by the door. He didn’t look up, but he could imagine McCoy’s face perfectly: the same stony implacability he’d displayed in sick bay. 

“If you think behaving yourself now is going to spare you—“

“No,” Jim interrupted, and then he did look up. “I don’t want to be spared.”

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and swept a glance over Jim’s seated form. “Fine. Stand up.”

Jim scrambled to his feet, already feeling lightheaded from the relief of having McCoy here, having him in command. McCoy strode over to the desk, to the chair where Jim often sat up late into the night completing the endless paperwork his captaincy seemed to require. He settled into the chair, then patted his lap, looking back at Jim. 

Jim hurried over, eager to obey, but when he tried to sit, McCoy stopped him with a firm hand on his chest and a clearing of his throat. “Oh no you don’t. Over my knee.”

The words took several seconds to penetrate Jim’s brain. A frisson of excitement danced through his muscles, and he scrambled off McCoy’s lap to position himself as ordered: ass up, face down. 

McCoy rested one warm hand against Jim’s ass. His thumb rubbed slow circles against the smooth uniform pants. “You broke the rules today.”

“I know.” Jim rubbed his cheek against McCoy’s shin, the only place he could reach. “I’m sorry.”

“You know? Okay, then.” McCoy squeezed, his fingers denting the muscle of Jim’s ass. “Tell me.”

“Don’t be reckless with my life. Rule number three.” Jim could—and had—recited the whole list from memory, even the rules McCoy had joked about adding but never thought Jim would really take to heart. “I know.”

A firm smack landed against Jim’s ass before he’d even realized McCoy’s hand was moving. Then McCoy’s other hand reached down to tighten against the back of Jim’s neck. “You don’t know, Jim. You don’t know what it’s like to stand on the bridge and listen to a scratchy audio feed, hearing Sulu scream your name between explosions. You don’t know what it’s like to wait through seven minutes of no contact at all until we can get a transporter lock. Don’t tell me that you _know_.”

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head against McCoy’s leg. He didn’t know that. He knew the heady exhilaration of chasing down a dangerous Klingon fugitive, of outpacing the rest of the away team, of dodging phaser blasts and fighting hand to hand. He knew the screaming in his blood that pushed him past the bounds of the mission, laughing as he ran back into the smuggler’s hideout as its self-destruct sequence brought it down around his ears, and the fierce, ecstatic joy of running out again carrying the religious totem they’d stolen and flames nipping at his heels. And he knew the hot flush of pleasure that had come from the heavy, promising glances of the head priestess as she accepted the return of the church’s stolen property. None of it, _none_ of it was worth this, worth knowing he’d hurt McCoy, broken his word. 

“I’m sorry.” He tucked himself closer into McCoy. “I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, darling.” McCoy’s hand drew back and then struck again, firm against the muscle of Jim’s ass. Then another blow, another: a rhythmic barrage rocking Jim into McCoy’s lap. The first few hurt—McCoy wasn’t holding back—but after that the pain melted together into a warm haze that spread through Jim’s body and pooled in his cock. As McCoy continued to hit him, Jim could feel McCoy’s body responding as well, his dick hardening under Jim’s weight. 

“I’m sorry,” Jim panted as McCoy landed his heavy palm against Jim’s ass again and again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Finally, McCoy’s hand came to rest. Even through the fabric of Jim’s pants, the touch felt hot. Jim concentrated on breathing in time with the throbbing in his ass. “Hush,” McCoy said, stroking his other hand through Jim’s sweat-damp hair. He hadn’t realized he’d still been chanting apologies under his breath. 

“I know you are. It’s all right now. Punishment’s over.” He hooked a hand under Jim’s arms and levered him to his feet. The room spun precariously, but McCoy knew how to handle Jim in every state of impairment. The bed was only a few feet away, and McCoy landed Jim there on his side. Jim tried to help as McCoy got their clothes off, but he couldn’t seem to make his limbs do what he wanted them to do, and his thoughts, which usually whizzed through his brain at at least warp six, seemed to float as if in zero gravity. 

“You’re all right now.” The bed dipped as McCoy pressed against him, cock nestled against the hot skin of Jim’s ass. “You were so good for me.”

Jim took a shuddery breath as McCoy’s hand curled around his cock, making his hips slide forward even as McCoy pressed against him from behind. He managed to lift up a hand and grab at McCoy’s hip, urging him on. McCoy thrust against him, cock slick against his ass, which much have been a vivid shade of red. The remnants of pain filtered into Jim’s consciousness, but they only highlighted his pleasure, the blissful slide of his cock through McCoy’s warm hand, of McCoy’s fast breath in his ear, of McCoy’s body pressed to his, surrounding him, taking care of everything. 

“Promise me,” McCoy breathed, his mouth tucked right up against Jim’s face. “Promise me you won’t scare me like that.”

“I won’t,” Jim said. 

“You want to belong to me, you’ve got to follow my rules, understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course, anything.” The drag of McCoy’s cock sparked pain that only drove Jim’s pleasure higher. “Yes, please.”

“Promise me,” McCoy growled as he thumbed at the head of Jim’s cock, sending him writhing. “Promise me.”

“I swear,” Jim shouted, bucking up into McCoy’s grip and then grinding back against his cock, desperate for more. “Bones, I swear! I’m yours!”

McCoy thrust against him, tightening his grip and twisting just the way he knew would drive Jim over the edge. Jim’s voice caught in his throat as the pleasure took him, and he came silently, his body jerking as McCoy’s come splattered against his ass. 

Jim slumped against the bed and gulped in air. He was still trying to catch his breath when McCoy returned—when had he gotten up?—with a wet cloth. He pressed kisses against Jim’s shoulders as he trailed the cool cloth over the still-hot skin of Jim’s ass. Those touches seeped any remaining tension from Jim’s body, leaving him floating. 

“You all right, darling?” 

Jim managed a nod. 

“I love you too much to let you die on me. That’s what you’ve got to understand.”

“I know,” Jim muttered. He mustered the last of his strength to turn over—ignoring the protests of his still-stinging ass—and press a kiss to McCoy’s lips. “I promise. I know.”


End file.
